Black Holes and Revelations
by LaurenBanks
Summary: Jack/John "You know..that immortality thing of yours..it's bloody contagious." Rewritten, because haste makes for a terrible plotline. Post COE
1. Chapter 1 By My Side

Title: Black Holes and Revelations

Author: LaurenBanks

Summary: "You know, that immortality of yours…it's contagious" Jack/John, Post COE

Rating: T for language

A/N: I really felt as though I didn't put a ton of effort into my first draft of this story, so I revamped it, and hopefully its better!

Chapter One-Shiver

John Hart was teetering on both an emotional and literal precipice. He was exploring the cliffs of Galenta, a planet discovered at the turn of the 43rd century. There were few residents, save for the odd lizard. The majority of the planet had suffered from severe earthquakes, the cause of which being forty-five tectonic plates continually crashing underneath the surface of the hundred- mile body. John Hart was in the southern region, supposedly the spot for the best stargazing in the western atlas. The stars were indeed beautiful, and seemed to be there as a pretty bauble to distract someone as their brains were being dashed against bleak black rock. After hop-skipping and jumping to a relatively flat ridge, the earth equivalent of a mesa, he allowed himself to lay back and stare heavenwards. He had already tested his limits, and while it hurt like hell, he grinned like a fool as soon as his eyes reopened. John Hart now had a purpose reflected in those cunning eyes, a purpose that glimmered and shimmered along with the stars. He began to fiddle with his wrist-strap.

Captain Jack Harkness was having a really freaking bad day. He slammed the door to his makeshift office with a less than satisfying bang. Due to the obliteration of the Hub, Jack had no other choice but to camp out at UNIT for the duration of the rebuilding. The ever-scowling UNIT cronies had been none too happy about putting him up, but reluctantly assigned him an old computer storage room. The good captain owed even that small allowance to one Doctor Martha Jones. Martha had thrown as much weight around as she possibly could, scoring no brownie points with her superiors in the process. Jack had every intention of offering her a position as medical officer, just as soon as he was the _hell away from UNIT. _Jack sat down, trying to unravel his latest headache. He had been going through several potential transfers from MI-5. He had taken them weevil hunting. When the beastie in question was located, three of the five agents had fainted dead away. One, Peter was his name, ran straight toward the weevil, gun drawn. He had, however, forgotten the tranquilizer spray, which resulted in a nasty swipe to his shoulder. His partner, Grace, stepped right in front of him and used enough tranq spray on the poor thing to knock out a heard. Two hours and twenty stitches later, Jack had on his hands an extremely angry director and a prime example of a bond that he had just lost. He sent them both home. Jack didn't retcon them, for as much as they could be a pain in the arse sometimes, MI-5 agents usually knew how to shut up. Martha was going to push for the both of them to be hired, but he wouldn't do it. Preformed bonds as strong as the one those two had let to severe lapses in judgment. Jack leaned across his desk, eyeballing the reams of requisition forms that were essential to rebuilding the Hub. Papers to confirm the presence of alien technology (or lack of such, as it was all in smithereens),

Order forms for new, top-of-the-line, computers, new employee applications, --wait, _what?_ As Jack read over the seemingly inauspicious paper, a shadow of his former thousand-watt grin appeared. He may have just found a crucial piece to the jigsaw that was rebuilding Torchwood Three.


	2. Chapter 2 Mushaboom

A/N: Okay, seeing as I had very little idea how to work the upload manager, and therefore add in an author's note, it shall go here: My OC, Grace (every reader just shuddered at the phrase, I know), will most likely be playing a very minor role in the chapters to come. Also, this story has no definitive layout in my head. I'm thinking somewhere in the region of fifty chapters, as I've meandered through the idea of domesticity. Here goes nothing...

NAME: John Hart

AGE: Unimportant

PROIR RECORD: Murder, Arson, Theft Espionage, etc.

CURRENT OCCUPATION: Turn on your wrist-strap, Jack

MEDICAL CONDITION: Really, turn it on.

Jack did as the form requested. The holographic projector embedded in the center of the strap began to display a hollowed out area, a crude cave, Jack quickly inferred. Dead smack in the middle appeared none other than intergalactic rabble-rouser and Jack's old partner, John Hart.

John thought over the message he left as he programmed his wrist strap for Charon, Pluto's lonely moon. After a few trips, (and some rather crucial missing atoms) he had learned not to make a trip as long as the one from Galenta to Earth in one jump. He believed he had covered all his bases in the message, although he was a little irked at having to probe Jack to check his holo-mail, again. Twice. John sighed; he took another deep breath and prepared to plummet into the void. He hit the button.

Meanwhile, Jack listened intently to the hovering blue figure. "Well, it's certainly under different circumstances that I have to contact you." The discordant voice said lazily. "Seems as though you're just a tad short of hands at the moment, am I am fully intent on offering my full cooperation." Jack rolled his eyes. John Hart's first priority in life was keeping John Hart in one piece, and that plan didn't lend itself too well to jumping in front of weevils. "I know, disbelieving, aren't you?" Well, don't worry. I'll be there in two ticks to explain.

John materialized to the sight of a disheveled looking office and an equally disheveled looking captain. Jack's hair had grown out at least an inch, and the captain had left it ungroomed, which left it screaming to be ruffled. The infamous greatcoat was slung over a rickety chair, and his suspenders had been pushed down to drape along his slacks. His arms were already crossed. John, meanwhile, had stowed his usual getup in favor of something a little less conspicuous. He was clad in a black Lycra tee shirt, track pants with a white stripe down the side, and gray running shoes with neon green accents. There was a backpack slung across his shoulder, and a smirk across his face. He was sporting a buzz cut. Jack began the interrogation. "So, what's in it for you?"


End file.
